Singing the Blade's Song
by Terriana
Summary: AU- Rukia is tired of her brother's paranoia, she so states this by leading a forbidden duel life in the arena, battling her guts out- literally. However, with a forced marriage, monsters, and an orange-haired freak, her life's about to get interesting
1. Chapter 1

**Yo.**

**This is my ****FIRST FIC **so try not to be too hopeful. I'm quite obsessed with the Arthurian legends, so as such, this fic will be based faintly on those (hehe, this will be fun). Also, there's gonna be a major love triangle comin' up, and its gonna be the most common one in bleach... you guys already know who I'm talking about.

Enjoy (hopefully XD)

**Disclaimer: I can't draw. **

**

* * *

**

** The Plague had been spreading for a while now, leaving a trail of corruption in its path. Nobody had noticed it at first, mistaking it for another simple disease out of many other simple diseases. Sure it could kill, but that was nothing new to the poor world the people inhabited.**

Except… it didn't kill.

It devoured.

The victims would come down with something akin to an incurable flu, bedridden for weeks on end. Their kin watched helplessly from the sidelines, unable to tend to their loved ones in fear of catching the deadly disease themselves.

But that wasn't it. And staying on the sidelines couldn't save you.

The victims?

Seemingly ill on the outside.

Already dead on the inside.

The Plague was not a sickness. It was a living, active parasite born purely of gluttony.

And the parasite had only one function: consume.

It lived off its victim's mind, devouring their thoughts, their sanity, their humanity. And it kept going after that, demolishing all love buried within its victim's senses until nothing but raw, pure, tender lust was left.

Lust for the thoughts that were lost.

Lust for a warm, beating heart.

Lust for blood.

Ichigo Kurosaki knew this better than most.

Because on June 17th, the victims destroyed his life.

* * *

**_It was raining when they came_**

**_As if the sky was crying_**

Nine-year-old Ichigo Kurosaki had been miserable, staring out the window into the depressing abyss of rain.

Mother was sick, so there was no need to smile. No need to be happy.

His father had told him and his sisters not to worry with the usual goofy grin adjourning his face. He'd told them Mom would be better in no time. That it was just a small cold, nothing to lose sleep over.

Ichigo had seen right through that lie.

After all, his mother had been down with this 'small cold' for an awful long time, and he wasn't so stupid as to believe whatever his idiotic father said.

He pushed himself away from the cold glass of the window, stumbling towards the main room where they all slept. He would take a nap with his baby sisters, he decided, after all, with Mother sick, there was no need to keep himself awake.

As he reached the opening into the hall, the soft mumble of voices echoed from the small, 'forbidden room' in which Mother lay, piquing his interest. He pressed his ear to the door separating him from the two speakers, attempting to make out the muffles of conversation.

"I'm not lea… away if that's all…"

It was his father's voice, but it was different. No high-pitched, goofy tone was evident, something Ichigo had deemed impossible. There was something else too… his voice almost sounded… weak.

"…coming soon Ishiin, and she's alm… too late to…"

Ichigo felt confused. Very confused. There was a stranger in the house… why would his father let a stranger in the house? They lived in a very rural area, one where the next house or cottage was miles away. So, because of this, no one but relatives and friends he knew well had ever set foot on the family's wooden floor. Why didn't he recognize the low, raspy voice? And what business did a stranger have in their small residence?

"Then hel… I don't care if they're damn gathering…"

"…You would be so stupid as to… children, Ishiin, CHILDREN!"

He gasped as the door was thrown open, unceremoniously slamming into his face. With a yelp, he staggered backwards into the wall, clutching his throbbing nose.

The stranger stood in the doorway, shaded gray eyes looking down on him in what looked like… pity?

Ichigo could see right away why someone like him would be friends with his father.

The stranger was lax in posture, hands casually grasping a wooden cane. The pale, white skin of his face was framed by light blond hair that not only dropped down between his eyes, but stuck out at all angles. The green and white striped bucket hat was pushed down low on his forehead, and his face was unkempt. A brown and green shirt, pants, and coat hung loosely off his figure, accompanied by a pair of traditional, chunky sandals.

If it weren't for the hints of stress that lurked faintly in his carriage, Ichigo would've assumed right away that the outsider didn't have a care in the world.

The man bent down, holding out a hand that Ichigo roughly pushed away, scuttling to his feet.

He smiled, "Ichigo right? Ishiin's often bragged of you. Name's Urahara."

Ichigo only stared at Urahara with wide eyes, wondering again why he'd never met the strange man before. His father slowly walked to stand beside Urahara, goofy demeanor up once again to mask the tension he was so obviously trying to hide.

"Ichigo," his dad grinned, "You and your sisters will be leaving on a _vacation_ with Uncle Urahara a week from now. Dad has to stay with Mom to make sure she gets better okay?"

Both Urahara and Ichigo stiffened up at Ishiin's announcment. Ichigo because he was just plain confused at the moment, and Urahara for an entirely different reason.

Slowly, the blond haired man turned to face Ichigo's father, worry flaring up in his expression.

"Would that be wise Ishiin?" He mumbled, stealing a glance in Ichigo's direction.

But Ishiin, being Ishiin and all, just laughed and slapped Urahara a little too hard on the back, steering him towards the door.

"I'll see you in a week Kisuke. Keep safe."

The door shut.

xxxxxxx

The moon was a full circle that night, a glowing disk of emptiness casting white rays across the foul night sky. There were no stars, no minor distractions, just that huge mark of terrible beauty lighting the land with its subtle glow. On that night, that night of the full moon, Ichigo slept.

And dreamed.

He was standing in an abyss of nothing but darkness, in that way, he could not tell whether or not he'd lost his sight to blindness, or whether it was just the black, playing tricks on his mind. It was cold. The icy chill had dug its claws into his flesh leaving his body wracked with shivers. And still, nothing but a steady, haunting sound of dripping water accompanied him in his world of darkness.

So he sat.

"Hello." He said to Black. "My name's Ichigo."

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

"What's yours?"

**Drip.**

He waited.

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

"No name eh?" He whispered. "What about… Jomei? It means 'to spread light'…"

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

"No good I guess… How about Asa?"

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

**Drip.**

"Amaya?"

**Drip.**

"Yoshi?"

**Drip.**

"Zuki?"

**Drip.**

Ichigo sighed and laid down, cradling the back of his head in his hands.

"There's no moon here. And yet it seems as though it's night… Are you lonely?"

**Drip.**

"Y'know, Mother once told me about a Raven who stole the sun… I wonder what happened to the moon here…"

**Drip.**

"Did it fall? Did it fade away? Did it just disappear?"

**Drip.**

"Or did you cut it down… Zangetsu."

…

Silence.

…

**P A I N**

Ichigo felt it, all around him, eating away at his flesh, embedding itself in his muscles, ripping out his throat in a hoarse, gut-wrenching scream. His back arched against his will, and his fingernails dug bloody trenches in his chest.

All around him, the Blackness was disappearing into a twirling mass, no, it was being sucked in.

Into him.

Tears of agony leaked down his cheeks, and his jaw was still wrenched open in a soundless cry.

And yet he felt it slowly fading. The pain. With every ounce of Black that disappeared into his body, an ounce of pain lifted.

Until it was gone.

The pain.

And the Black.

And Ichigo found himself sitting up in White, the cold steel of something stroking his leg.

There, on his lap, sat the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

A sword of the Black sat in front of him, its voice whispering to him of its greed for blood, for violence, for the cries of victims as it bit into their warm flesh.

And it asked him to look up. So he did.

A picture of his mother, brown hair flying, an her signature smile spread across her cheeks, was clutched in White fingers.

Sitting exactly opposite from him, was a mirror image of himself. Only in its lap, was not a sword of Black, but a sword of White. Its empty eyes were filled with a sense of longing and lust as it stared at him, though Ichigo knew not of what it desired. Then it spoke in a voice that was, and yet wasn't his, and shuffled towards him in a body that was and yet wasn't his.

"_Wake up King_," it whispered. "_The Tainted are coming._"

And it thrust the blade of White

Into his heart.

* * *

**_Elegant posture hath she,_**

**_As she walked the corridor,_**

**_And the mark of beauty stained her figure,_**

**_Drawing the eyes of those who were not welcome,_**

**_Oblivious to the warrior who lurked beneath her skin_**

"Milady, the king has informed me not to let you run away this time. He is… worried for you."

Momo Hinamori bowed down her head, locks of brown hair falling into her eyes. She stood in the doorway, the flowing cloth of the servants' outfit clinging to her slim stature.

It was a great honor, she'd been told, to serve the princess. However, despite her usual bubbly demeanor, nothing could cease the jealousy that came upon sight of the goddess.

Seven years. Seven years she'd been living her life as the princess's personal maid. Seven years of putting up with short-tempered beauty. Seven years was, she decided, enough to know exactly where the Kuchiki heir was positioned at this moment.

She knew the princess was sitting beside the large window that adorned the wall, staring out into the distance with the slight, well-hidden glimpses of longing buried deep within those unnatural violet eyes. That same, stubborn lock of raven hair would be, as usual, hanging down the middle of her face, brushed slightly to the left. The light of the sunlight would be splashed over her porcelain skin, and her small form.

And in just a few seconds, her luscious lips would move to say…

"Momo, I already told you; there is no need to stress the use of that godforsaken title around here! Forget my name again and I'll have to beat some sense into you myself. As for his paranoia… to hell with it! Even he himself knows I am more than capable of defending myself!"

Yes, it was truly amazing how a goddess of such beauty and grace could possess such an… umm… violent nature.

"I am sorry Rukia-san." Momo giggled, hiding the blush that, for the millionth time, appeared on her cheeks.

"Right then," the princess huffed, "I'm going out for some fresh air."

"But Rukia, your brother will be furious!" Momo warned.

But, of course, Rukia, being Rukia and all, just walked right past her lady-in-waiting and out the door.

Momo sighed as she caught full sight of her master. A white tunic and leather breeches- certainly not fit for a princess, much less any woman. Reluctantly, she followed the princess down the stairs.

xxxxxxxxx

Her breath painted the metal mask that guarded her face in a white mist. Sweat rolled off her forehead, but her hands were too occupied with the deadly weapon she carried to wipe it away.

Yelling, she jumped forward with the lethal grace she'd become famous for.

Her opponent was probably six to seven feet tall, and boy, he was a giant compared to her. A large, lumbering, two-handed sword was raised in one hand, while his other arm held a large shield embellished with the Kuchiki Crest.

Big? Oh ya.

Strong? Definitely.

Fast? Nope.

Using her speed, she quickly feinted towards his sword hand and he momentarily leaned towards the right. She didn't hesitate to use her short height to her advantage, diving under the raised shield and swiftly spinning her legs around into a kick to the legs.

As expected, the giant was a little confused by her sudden movements. And although the girl held barely any strength compared to his muscular build, she had more than enough knowledge of battle to make up for that.

For instance, she knew that the giant's armor made him a lot slower than he already was, giving her the benefit of speed. She also knew that his massive shield covered his vision to the left slightly, giving her a blind spot to work with. And so, she could predict that by staying within that blind spot, then feinting out of it towards his sword, the sudden movement would shock him into leaning himself vaguely forward in preparation for the force of a blow. Of course, by then she'd already be behind him, kicking the weak joint between the calves and quads, therefore causing his whole, lumbering mass to collapse.

She grinned once again as the man's eyes widened in shock.

The unique white steel of her sword touched his neck, distinct white ribbon flowing as the wind grabbed it.

"I win." She stated calmly.

Walking away from the arena now filled with the chaos of cheers, Rukia sheathed her blade, humming softly to herself.

The giant lay on he ground, wondering to himself why the boy's voice had sounded so familiar… and so… feminine. His actions too; they had been so graceful and measured. The boy's movements had almost seemed dainty… like a woman's…

But, of course, that was impossible.

After all, no woman was ever to set foot inside the arena; that was one of the top rules.

* * *

**Reviews are the fuel for this story**

**No reviews = No fuel = Writer's block = No updates = No story.**

**Simple as that. :3 XD XO (thanks 4 reading)**


	2. Chapter 2

Hello peoples. I managed to write the second chappie :3 having trouble with the third... so dont be expecting an update too soon...

Disclaimer: If I owned it, ichigo would be dead right now :P (not because i hate him, noope i luv him, however, i like seein the main characters die for some weird twisted reason)

* * *

_**She bears thy curse,**_

_**Trapped within herself,**_

**_So as the blade pierced her chest,_**

**_And crimson spell weave,_**

**_Into the warrior within_**

"_A m-marriage?"_

"_Yes Rukia. A marriage."_

Rukia stared at the tear-stained pillow, cursing herself for her weakness. She'd known it had to happen some time, she'd just never expected it so… sudden. How she could be so foolish to forget her main duties, she didn't know, but honestly? A marriage? Yes, most women were married at even earlier years than her, and yes, most of them were not blessed with the honor of uniting two Lands with the said bondage, but to marry and be bound to another for life? This was a feat she desired to do of her own will, not of her brother's.

When she married, she wished to be in love with the spouse, and deeply so.

"_Our villages are being attacked more frequently everyday. The tainted are getting bolder, the disease is spreading. We lack the military might it takes to fend them off. If this carries on any longer, our people will perish."_

But, it was her duty. And marriage was not something she could slip by so easily. Her people's lives relied on this, and to reject such an offer over nothing but her own independent will was… was ridiculous, childish, self-indulgent.

"_I have accepted Lord Renji's wish to posses your hand. It shall come with a peace treaty, for, of course, what can unite two Lands more purely than a bondage between two of the noble families?"_

Renji Abarai.

To marry a man such as himself was a feat many women could only dream of.

He was known to be a caring, loyal, powerful, and handsome man. One of the few Lords that were able to see past his power and not abuse it. It was a known fact that Renji Abarai treated his knights, citizens, and servants all on equal ground, never once letting his title get the better of himself. He was a legend, a figure to be admired, and, Rukia grimaced, he had been her best friend since the feeble age of nine. They'd played many times together, and Rukia had always taken pride in the fact that he had never once beaten her in the skill of swordplay. In fact, Rukia respected him deeply for the fact that he had practiced with her at all, her being a woman and all. Their friendship had always been strong, but as they got older, and Renji's father passed away, he was sent to take on the throne, and duty pulled them away from each other.

Years later, Renji had proposed to her in private, offered her the chance to live a long and happy life under his arms of protection, and in turn, Rukia had refused him. After all, Rukia could protect herself well enough. He of all people should have known that fact. Alas, Renji was not one of weak will, and again and again, he'd openly displayed the fact that he still desired her, and that he was not one to force a friend into a binding such as marriage.

A trait, she sighed, that turned to be in vain. After all, a forced marriage was the only way she could view this predicament.

As much affection as she held for her friend, love was not a feeling that she found among her emotions for Renji. Marriage to him was, and would never be a yearning, however, if duty required their bondage, she could not complain, for there would be no other man to whom she could imagine putting up with for the rest if her life.

"_Your means of traveling have already been arranged. You shall leave in exactly a week from now. Renji will choose when he decides to propose to you publicly."_

"_But-"_

"_I will not tolerate any protests or petty excuses. Our people need the protection Renji can offer. You shall marry with the pride of knowing you have honored our Land. Do you understand?"_

"… _Yes brother."_

_

* * *

_

The carriage left at nightfall, for that was the time the routes were the least hectic. At least fifteen guards surrounded the cart, and Rukia sat alone in the luxurious inner workings.

Cushions of red velvet layered the seats, and yet even with the extra efforts of silk pillows, she found herself helplessly uncomfortable. Whether it was the rocky trail through the forest, the cold climate, the concealing darkness of night, or simply the feeling of foreboding that bit at her stomach, nothing could quench the uncertainty that invaded her senses as they rode. Sighing in annoyance, she gazed resentfully through the window and stared out into the bleak scenery of trees.

More trees.

Trees.

More trees.

And random shocks of orange hair.

…

What the hell?

She narrowed her eyes, watching closely for the bobbing orange blob through the concealing tangle of branches.

Nothing.

But still, the fact that it was probably her imagination did not stop her hand from moving under her irritatingly long dress to linger on her left leg. The left leg in which her sword was strapped.

As Hisana had said so passionately, it was better to be safe, than sorry.

xxxxxxx

They attacked at sunrise.

Rukia had been fighting back the sleep that prodded at the edges of her vision. To be honest, she would have already been asleep if it weren't for the rigged feeling of apprehension that clutched her spine.

The sensation was not unfamiliar to her. In fact, it was something that had become a regularity in her pitiful life.

It was the feeling she got before a battle.

She could have warned the driver. She could have warned the guards. She could have saved them. But, of course, she was a woman. And a woman knew nothing of the ecstatic feeling you got before a battle, or the burst of adrenaline that spread to your nerves as you sighted your enemy. Their prejudice would only entice them to ignore 'Their Lady', and accuse her of witchcraft when they found her words to be true.

Unless they died.

Which, unfortunately, Rukia was pretty sure they would, seeing as she herself had battled every one of them in the arena previously.

Maybe they would be right to accuse her of witchcraft. There were times in which Rukia believed she was not a normal… well, woman.

Normal ladies did not belt swords to their legs. Normal ladies didn't risk their lives in the arena, living a forbidden duel life under a false identity. And no lady, or man might she mention, simply _knew _when a battle was to happen, and never be mistaken. She sighed when the smoldering feeling in her stomach increased drastically into a warning blaze.

They would be attacking about…

Now.

The carriage screeched to a jerking stop as the hoarse scream of a soldier echoed out all too suddenly. In an instant, the sound of swords being drawn and cries of pain weaved into Rukia's ears.

She smiled.

The ripping screech as the door to the carriage was literally torn away that vibrated through the coach was not enough to even make Rukia flinch. Neither was the growling dirty man that stood in the doorway.

And even as he lunged towards her, perverted grin stretched across his stretched cheeks, Rukia stood her ground. The man was overconfident, the sexist type that labeled her as easy, weak, and exciting female prey. Disgust curled in her stomach as she caught sight of the grimy desire that clouded his alien, unnatural black eyes.

He cornered her against the wall, both arms taking his weight as he leaned slowly closer to her, rank putrid breath making her gag.

"Your a pretty one aren't you?" he chuckled. "You scared _milady_?"

"Foul creature. I'm disgusted."

Once again, the man's laughter rung through the air.

"Feisty. Tell you what, give me what I desire, and I may spare your life. You seem like quite a valuable noble what with all this jewelry here. You'd prob' be worth quite some gold."

He grinned and pushed his nose against hers, the spittle of his beard brushing her cheeks.

"Yeah. I'll give you what you deserve." she murmured into his dangerously close lips.

The man's eyes widened in shock as he suddenly found himself unable to breath. Warm liquid flowed down onto his chest, and he looked down in shock.

A white blade of lethal beauty sprouted from his crimson dyed throat.

Rukia pushed the man away from her, removing her now bloodstained sword from the corpse and stepping out the door.

Into a trap.

She was completely surrounded. Her guards swiftly annihilated by the sheer number of the ambushers. This was madness. As skilled as she was, even she herself could not fend off the hundred, if not more, morbid men circled around her!

And then as her eyes raked across them, her blood suddenly went very, very cold. The stances they were in were not of the normal hijacking thugs. No, they held the postures of trained soldiers. All sharing the same dark, hungry eyes, and predatory grins.

All wearing the uniform of the Abarai family.

"No." she whispered.

Renji would never send his own army against her. She was sure of that. If he'd wanted to kill her he could have done it the many times they'd met in secret. The look of gentle longing that had shrouded his face had not lied, he loved her. He had no reason to kill her in a way such as this. Unless...

No, that couldn't be. But her logic refused every other option.

_He wanted to start a war with her brother?_

Rukia felt tears trail down her cheeks as they came from behind her and seized her arms. She fell to her knees; defeat a foreign and weakening feeling to her body.

One of Renji's soldiers closed in on her, rusty sword swinging down closer to her pulsing neck.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Orange.

Neon orange filled her vision.

And the clang of blades resounded through the field. A sharp contrast to the empty silence that had just prevailed a minute ago.

Trembling in shock, Rukia looked up.

He towered above her, appearance a dark silhouette against the setting sun. A cloak was wrapped around him, high collar shielding his chin, and ending at his lips. A sharp nose was positioned on his handsome face; skin a warm, tanned tint.

The thing that threw Rukia off, was not his long, tasseled peculiar orange locks that fell slightly down his back, nor the midnight sword ending in a chain that he'd so casually swung behind him to block the blow. No, it was his eyes. Or rather, what covered them.

Linen bandages dyed black with dirt were wrapped loosely around his eyes, as if to shield them, protect them.

How could someone be so stupid to think they could challenge an army of men single-handedly, and blinded at the same time?

Then he spoke, and his masculine voice echoing all that dim-witted cockiness he so obviously held.

"You just gonna sit there?"

Rukia bowed down her head, face wet with tears, and lips curled up into a smile.

"Whoever you are," she said, "You're a fool."

And with that, she found herself no longer on her knees, but throwing her legs backwards into kicks that those two men would sadly feel forever. Releasing muffled screeches of pain, they let her go, and in an instant her sword was once again in hand, the icy feeling leaking from its blade overcoming her mind with a lust for blood.

Then she stepped away from the cowardly sight, and pressed her back to the stranger.

"How many do you reckon there are?" He asked as one by one the circle of men charged at them.

"At least a hundred. Maybe more."

Rukia was almost thrown off when he began to chuckle. Almost. But she too, felt the beautiful feeling of adrenaline, so she knew just exactly what he was laughing about.

"Duck." He commanded. And she did, missing the shower of blood that cascaded from where he finished off one of the men. Then she rolled between his legs, and thrust her sword directly into the heart of a soldier that had thought to creep up on her 'partner'.

"On your right." She called, avoiding the three strong, but slow jabs that careened towards her head, then easily exterminating the defenseless attackers.

Blood rained on the two warriors. And soon enough, not one patch of them revealed color other than the sickly crimson.

xxxxxx

Rukia had lost track of knowledge and thoughts quite a while ago. The severe demands of this battle had easily washed away all thoughts and conscience from her mind to reveal nothing but raw, tender instinct.

Duck, roll, thrust, parry, block, spin, block, slash, swing.

The shouts of her orange-haired accomplice wound into her ears, orders taking over her muscles. Switch positions. Behind her. On his left. One by one the soldiers perished. All helpless victims of the seemingly invincible duo.

They fought till the sun had risen fully and powerfully into the empty sky.

And as they stood there, still back-to-back and gasping for breath, the last of their enemies fell.

Their muscles shook, and not all the blood that painted their bodies belonged to the decapitated soldiers. With sweat rolling down her flawless neck, Rukia turned to her savior, disbelief clouding her violet eyes.

"Who are you?" she whispered. Eyes once again drawn to the now-red bandages that covered his eyes. How in the world could he have…

"Why the hell would I have to tell _you_, midget." He shrugged weakly.

Rukia's eyes widened at the insult. No one insulted her height. NO ONE.

She slammed her elbow into his stomach, enjoying the yowl he made as the air was knocked out of him.

Recovering, he rubbed the back of his head while clutching the spot she'd so graciously hit.

"Jeez. I save your life and _this_ is your thanks?" he winced. "I always hated interrogations."

"Have you no manners? Do you even know who I am!" she hissed at him, for once enjoying the respect her title was guaranteed to earn her.

"Nope."

"WHAT!"

This earned him yet another elbow to the stomach.

"Godamnit midget!"

And another.

"Alright, alright!" he grimaced, "I'm sorry. Names don't work for me. Enlighten me to your greatness." Sarcasm laced his last words, but lucky for him, Rukia chose to ignore it.

"Rukia Kuchiki." She announced proudly.

"Nice to know." He said blankly, turning around and bending over to examine of the many corpses that lay on the cold ground.

Rukia stared at his back. Seethed. Seethed some more. Then. Exploded.

Orange-head suddenly found himself face down on the ground, arms held in a painful lock behind him as Rukia had deliberately planted herself on his butt.

"When a princess introduces herself to a lowly _savage_ like you, don't you think she expects _just a little _respect?" she fumed, yanking on his arms for extra effect.

"GODAMNIT SORRY. Jeez," he panted, "when Renji ordered me to save a victim, he failed to mention it would be such a violent one."

WHY THAT- wait. Did he just say?

"You were sent by Renji?" she whispered, releasing his arms and immediately scuttling away from him.

The man, obviously taken aback by her sudden change in attitude pulled himself off the ground slowly, a frown stiffening his lips. It was only then that she realized his sword was somehow still clutched in his hand.

She backed away more.

As he looked at her, the man's face twisted into something akin to remorse, and with a chill, she suddenly knew that behind those bandages, his eyes were filled with disgust.

Then the most peculiar thing happened.

One minute the orange-haired warrior was standing at least 4 feet away from her, and the next, she found his breath stroking her blood-splattered cheeks.

His voice no longer held the light-hearted tone, rather the quiet deadly sound that she'd heard too many times from the mouth of her own brother.

"You," he said softly, eyes shaded, "believe that Renji sent those men?"

Rukia could only stare helplessly, muscles still shaking in exhaustion.

"N-no… I-I… I don't know."

She felt her eyes being drawn once again to the corpses that lay on the cold ground. Thinking back to it… the unnatural colored eyes and the lust-filled demeanors that had possessed all of them were not of trained soldiers, rather insane ones… Renji… Renji would never do such a thing… how naïve of her…

"I…" she whispered, "I was wrong."

His gaze softened.

"C'mon. You must be tired. There should be a village close by."

Rukia bowed down her head, raven locks sticking to her sweaty forehead. What was left of her dress clung in ragged shreds to her pale skin, leaving her practically naked in the soft rays of the moon.

"Who were they then?" She asked quietly, voice nothing but a whisper carried away by the wind.

The man turned to face her. And Rukia noticed for the first time that he was what most ladies in her kingdom would call 'handsome' and 'gorgeous', what with his muscular, lithe body and all.

Knight. That was what Rukia classified him as.

Yet he wore no armor, nor any crest, only a black, sleeveless trench coat with long matching gloves and his peculiar cloak. And, of course, there was his sword; a thin, long blade of ebony with a cross-guard consisting of four metal prongs bent out of shape. A long broken chain hung from the end of the hilt, much like Shirayuki's ribbon. In fact, Rukia would go so far to say that his sword was the exact opposite of her own blade.

And the bandages… if he were blind, why would he have to wear bandages? And if he were wounded, how the hell could he fight like that? But just as she'd known to never even breathe Hisana's name in front of Byakuya, she knew that whatever this man's problem was, it was personal, and he obviously wanted it to stay that way.

His lips finally moved to answer, and a wary expression enveloped his face.

"Tainted." He choked.

Then slowly, with weighted steps, he walked away from the battlefield and disappeared into the forest, leaving nothing but crimson footsteps of blood for her to follow.

"And you didn't even tell me your name." she exhaled, speaking more to herself than to anyone.

And yet, even though her voice hadn't been anything more than a whisper, an answering shout careened into her ears.

"Ichigo Kurosaki."

* * *

-_-" I don't think I did very well on this chap... oh well, maybe i'll edit it a bit later.

Thanks to my 4 reviewers. Yer the reason the chaps out here right now

And... y'know, feedback's reeeaaally nice... (coughreviewcough)


End file.
